


Agon and Sena

by orphan_account



Category: Fuck u - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22798804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Lol





	Agon and Sena

Five Things Kongo Agon Didn't Mean to Do

by hadaka

Category: Eyeshield 21  
Genre: Angst, Drama  
Language: English  
Status: In-Progress  
Published: 2009-08-15  
Updated: 2010-11-05  
Packaged: 2013-09-15 04:56:16  
Rating: M  
Chapters: 4  
Words: 15,586  
Publisher: www.fanfiction.net  
Story URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5304743/1/  
Author URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/2032711/hadaka  
Summary: Or, Five Times Kobayakawa Sena Defied Expectations.

1\. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Do. Not. Own.

**Warnings:** Rating for language, sexual concepts, and acts. This is **yaoi**.

**Summary:** Or, Five Times Kobayakawa Sena Defied Expectations.

* * *

The first time Agon tried to fuck Kobayakawa Sena, he got the _shit_ beat out of him.

He hadn't expected it. Sena was just so fucking _girly_, all weak and cringing and whimpering _Sumimasen_ with every other breath. Agon had figured him to be the virginal type—a few stammering protests, some mildly exciting struggling as the clothes came off, and then maybe some tears and a few breathless moans as he lay there, like fucking a wet pillow. And afterward maybe he'd cry, and Agon could leave while the fucking _girl_ was still trying to get his pants on.

The whole thing _started out_ the way it was supposed to. He got the short trash back to his house, made sure the Kobayakawas really weren't home, followed the trash up to his room, and then, while Sena was looking at his stack of Kurosawa movies, Agon came up behind him and—

_"No," _said Sena.

The firm tone of that single word was enough to make Agon stop and glare down at him. "What?"

"I said no." Sena looked like he was either angry or about to cry. Only one of those things made sense. "I—I don't want to."

Didn't _want_ to? "Then why am I up here?"

Then the trash looked _hurt_. "I thought—I just thought you wanted to spend time with me..."

"That's what I'm fucking doing, isn't it?"

"Not this! I mean—"

Fucking _shit_. What had he been expecting? Like Agon wanted to go up to his room and _cuddle_? Had this trash thought he'd been going kilometers on kilometers out of his fucking way to walk this trash home from the station because he wanted to watch _movies_? He'd been taking Sena home for a week already! He didn't do that for _women_.

"Fuck this."

The look of sheer panic on Sena's face when Agon kicked his legs out from under him and then pinned him to the floor was one of the most unexpectedly _hottest_ things ever.

"No! No—Agon—get off—aaah—"

Sena began to struggle. Really hot, actually, nothing mild about it, seams ripping, buttons coming off, eyes filling with tears, and Agon was thinking that Sena might even actually _scream_, and he was so hard at that point, imagining Sena screaming at every—

A _fist_ hit his face.

Not painful at all. But it was shocking enough to make Agon stop again.

Sena, looking like something out of a porn mag, glared up at him. Shirt open and torn, his belt undone, face flushed red and tears in his eyes and on his cheeks. Agon could have blown a load just looking at him.

"I said _no_," said Sena, and actually tried to push Agon off of him.

This idiot! "You idiot!"

He pressed back down on Sena, intent on getting the pants and underwear off. What the fuck was the matter with this brat? All he had to do was just lie down for a few minutes and then Agon could be on his way, could have just got this out of his system, because he was clearly going completely fucking insane to want anything to do with this simple-minded virgin, because he definitely wasn't a fag, he just needed this _one thing_ and then he'd forget this moron even existed—

He yelled when Sena bit him.

Bit him _hard_, in the hand, and when Agon pulled back Sena was shoving at him, hitting him in the face with a fist as hard as he could. Agon used one hand to grab his jaw and hold it, the other to work at the zipper of Sena's pants and suddenly there was a stinging pain on his cheek and chin.

Sena was tearing at him. With his _nails_. His blunt, square _boy's_ nails.

And while Agon couldn't have said that it actually _hurt_, it did surprise him enough that he let go of Sena when he shouldn't have.

_"Fuck—"_

Sena pulled away from him, got his legs free and began kicking Agon in the _face_. Agon would have been slightly impressed if he hadn't been so fucking _pissed_. The kicks, unlike the punches, actually hurt a little. One of them sent the desk chair rattling into a wall.

"Fucking trash—"

He got hold of Sena's legs, was yanking him closer, was thinking about slapping the trash a couple of times to get him to calm down, when Sena's left foot got him in the balls.

The _pain_. Agon, unfamiliar with this particular agony, loosened his grip again. He was aware of Sena pulling away from him, and lifted his head, teeth clenched, having decided to take the trash by the throat and resolve this issue once and for all. Foreplay was one thing, but _this_—Sena owed him much more than a few minutes for _this_. "You—"

If his reflexes hadn't been totally impaired by the suffering of his balls, Agon knew Sena could never have done what he did next. As it was, Agon could only watch, with a shocked, silent _No way._ as Sena hefted the lamp he'd grabbed from his desk and smashed it down into Agon's head.

From a far, distant place, Agon seemed to hear someone who sounded a lot like Sena shouting "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" and then the slam of a door.

Agon himself laid there for a few more seconds, suspended between consternation and rage. Then, when the torture in his sack had become something at least tolerable, Agon staggered to his feet.

The fucking trash. The goddamn _bitch_. Did he think he was getting away with this? Did he think he could _not_ fucking put out when Agon wanted it and just walk away? Did he think Agon was his fucking _boyfriend_? This was _bullshit_. All that walking home, all that stuttering conversation Agon had put up with, and the fucking trash thought he could just _walk away_?

Agon threw the desk chair across the room, into another wall, kicked the broken lamp into the TV, and left the room. Where had that—there. The door to the bathroom was closed. From inside he could hear—he could hear—

He was standing right in front of the door, ready to kick the fucking thing in, when he realized Sena was crying.

Quietly. In a stifled sort of way, as if he were trying not to. Trying very _hard_ not to. As if he wanted to strangle the noise in his throat before it left his mouth.

The image formed in Agon's brain of Sena huddled beside the _furo_, his head in his hands, clothes torn and nearly off, shaking and gasping in the dark as he tried not to cry.

Agon didn't know if he made a sound, but then the crying abruptly cut off.

"Get out!" shouted Sena, from the other side the door. His voice was hoarse, but otherwise it was just loud. As if he'd swallowed his tears. "I have my phone! I'll call the police, don't think I won't! So just get out!"

His voice cracked on the last word. Then there was a hush, as if Sena was listening for an answer.

Agon left.

He went to Sena's room, picked his jacket up off the floor, put it on, went downstairs, and let himself out. He even closed the door behind him.

And then he walked to the terminal.

This was a lost fucking cause. Agon knew it. The only thing left to do was forget about it and call some willing pussy. God knew that wasn't hard to find. In fact, Agon didn't know _what_ he'd been thinking, chasing after a fag virgin the way he had when there were at least ten hot bitches who'd lay out the snatch mat for him within a two-station subway ride. Some perversion to know what it was like, he figured, some curiosity to know if fucking Sena would be anything like—

What a waste. Kobayakawa Sena should have been born a girl. Would have been fucking hot, with soft brown hair, those dark, tearful eyes, the small, trembling body...

Agon thought about calling someone. There was that one hostess from the club, or maybe the karaoke manager. Or, if he were in the mood for blonds, those receptionist bitches from the gym, or even that one from...

The place on his head where the lamp had hit him was aching.

When he got home, Unsui was already there.

"Agon," said Unsui, and just—stopped. Eyes wide. Like he'd been previously unaware he _had_ a brother named Agon.

Agon waited—a second—but when nothing else seemed to be coming, he sneered. "Yeah, Unko-chan?"

Unsui was staring. Agon stared back.

"You," began Unsui. "Where have you been?"

What the fuck? "What's it to you?"

Unsui was still staring at him. Agon was actually beginning to get irritated when his brother finally moved.

—and, walking right up to Agon, placed his hands on his shoulders.

"Agon," said Unsui, the most serious expression on his face, "I know I shouldn't interfere in your life, but—"

Agon was so taken aback he waited.

"No means no," said Unsui.

Beating his brother's face in wasn't anywhere near as satisfying as fucking Sena until the virgin couldn't stand would have been. But it helped.

In the bathroom, he surveyed the damage. Scratches, all along one cheek and down to the chin. Some bruising beneath his eye and the cheekbone of the same side. When he touched his head where the lamp had hit, his fingers came away slightly bloody.

Agon didn't even want to _look_ at his balls.

Fuck. The virgin sure as hell wasn't shy about _hitting_ people.

Who would have thought? Kobayakawa Sena, the coward, the whiner, the weak, meek underclassman. Girls just gave in and spread their legs. Sena had tried to dent his fucking _skull_.

Only a sick, sick person would find that hot. But Agon had an erection anyway.

It didn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything that Sena's face was what he was thinking about as he jerked off in the shower. It didn't mean anything that he went through his contacts list, looking for a girl, any girl, who was short and brown-haired and dark-eyed, before giving up and just jerking off again. It didn't mean anything that he couldn't seem to get that crying out of his head, Sena hiding in the bathroom with his torn clothes, biting back his tears.

It didn't mean anything that he imagined Sena helpless beneath him, eyes closed and face flushed as he cried out with pleasure, arching his small, runner's body into Agon's, as he came into his fingers.

It didn't mean anything.

There was no fucking way Agon was going back. Sena had made it clear what the situation was. And Agon _was not in the wrong_. He'd walked the fucking trash home for a _week_—obviously, it was the trash's turn to reciprocate and fucking _put out_. Now, Sena was more likely to call the cops than let Agon within thirty meters, and Agon had better things to do than deal with that kind of grief. There were plenty of pussies and probably even—if he were _at all_ interested, which he _wasn't_—cocks out there that would throw it at his feet if he so wanted.

No one in their right mind would go back after what had happened. No one.

So the look on Sena's face when he turned a corner three blocks from his house and found Agon waiting for him almost _killed_ Agon.

"Trash," said Again, as if nothing had ever happened.

That was Sena's cue to say "Kongo-san!" and blush and look down.

Only he didn't.

Sena's face was white. Something that looked a lot like honest terror was rising in those eyes. He took a shaky step back, and looked as if he were really thinking about running away.

Agon opened his mouth to say _What're you fucking looking like that at me for, trash?_ and instead heard himself say, "I want to watch a movie."

Sena's mouth opened. But he didn't say anything.

Agon—waited, eyes on Sena, feeling with strange acuity the tape on his face, the bandages over the worst of the bruises and cuts.

"My parents are home," said Sena. Without inflection, though his face was still wary.

A sneer, and then Agon muttered, "Yeah."

Sena looked at him, wonderingly and for a long while, and when he began walking again, he said, almost under his breath, "Agon."

So Agon turned and began walking toward Sena's house actually next to Sena. He worried a little that Sena might try to hold his hand.

Sena didn't.

2\. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Do. Not. Own.

**Warnings:** Rating for language, sexual concepts, and acts. This is **yaoi**.

**A/N:** I didn't mean for this to be so explicit. HONEST. I just...it's...he...that fucking _Kongo_...!

* * *

When, for _no fucking reason_ whatsoever, Agon stopped having the urge to tap easy bitches, he was _fucking pissed_.

It wasn't like he couldn't get it up. (What? Who fucking said that? Agon was going to fucking _kill_ whoever had suggested such an impossible fucking thing.) The problem was that once he was up, once he was stiff and aching and the bitch was moaning for it, he suddenly...just didn't really feel like it. He could still _do_ it (and don't even _think_ otherwise, bitch), but it was...so-so. Lackluster. _Boring_, even. As if even his dick was going, "Man, I can't be bothered with this shit right now."

The first thing Agon tried was a whole new set of girls. In between movies at Sena's house and jacking off in the shower, Agon wiped his contact list and rebuilt it from the ground up. If more than a few of the new girls he picked up happened to be short, brown-haired, brown-eyed, and shy as a fucking convent full of virgins, it definitely fucking wasn't because of any sort of _fixation_, it was just what he happened to find on those nights he wasn't in Sena's room ignoring his cock. Agon did not do _attachment_. (And don't you fucking _forget_ _it_.)

But it didn't quite work. (Who said that?) He would sit on the motel bed with the latest brown-haired, brown-eyed slut on her knees in front of him and he would think, _This bitch's mouth is too big._ He'd be bending a cunt over the wet bar and thinking, _Fucking slut's not tight enough._ At random moments, during blow jobs and hand jobs and reverse cowgirls, his mind would sort of wander away from what was happening and latch onto stray, nonsensical thoughts, like _He better fucking not watch _Ran _without me._

None of it made sense—especially the part where he _couldn't stop fucking thinking about that fucking virgin fag_. How his eyes looked when he was scared. How they looked when he was angry. What his smile was like when he did it for his friends, and what it was like when he did it for Agon. What his hair smelled like, right after he'd showered. What he looked like when he was dozing in front of the TV, sprawled out on the floor. The expression on his face, half terror and half sheer desperation, when he'd brought the lamp down on Agon's head.

All things Agon did his fucking _utmost_ not to think about, because all this was was _fucking_.

Except for the no fucking part. As soon as there _was_ fucking, that was what it would be about. Nothing more.

If Agon could ever get the fucking virgin to fucking _offer it up_.

Finally, one Friday night when he actually _fell asleep_ in the middle of a piledriver, Agon showered, left the bitch naked in the motel room, and took the train to Sena's house.

Enough was enough. Five fucking weeks of movies and walking home and those shy looks Sena kept giving him when he thought Agon wasn't looking (and now Agon had an erection on the train) and obviously restraint had obstructed something in his brain. When was this short trash going to _give it up_? Wasn't he sixteen? What kind of a fucking sixteen-year-old, even a fag, didn't want to have sex?

Agon had had it. Five weeks of _bullshit_ and Sena owed him a _lot_ more than a fuck. Sena owed him more than he could probably deliver. At this point, Agon _owned_ his ass. Owned his mouth, ass, fingers, and anything else Agon could think of. He didn't give a shit if the Kobayakawas _were_ home—he was going to fuck Sena into the floor until the trash _begged_ him to stop, and then he was going to fuck him even harder until Sena had screamed his throat so raw that he couldn't even beg.

Sena would _not_ say no.

At the house, the door was opened by Sena's mother, which immediately killed his boner. He gave her a smile, nodded at whatever the fuck it was she was saying, ignored the wary look she gave his dreads and clothes, and was up the stairs almost before she'd let him know "Sena's upstairs, Agon-kun."

When Agon kicked open the door to Sena's room, he was already reaching for his belt.

Sena looked up. "Agon?"

Agon—stopped.

Sena was staring at him, eyes wide. "I...I thought you were busy today."

He looked...as if he were embarrassed, his cheeks pink. And as if he hadn't expected anyone. A T-shirt, jogging shorts, and bare feet. There was that month's JUMP on the desk in front of him and his hair was damp and tousled as if he'd bathed earlier.

Agon was so hard he could have broken something.

But when he opened his mouth to demand _Get on your hands and fucking knees.,_ he heard himself say, "Put _Ran_ in. Trash."

Two hours in the dark, in Sena's room, Sena sitting close enough that he could feel the heat of Sena's body against his arm but far enough that nothing would look off if Sena's mother happened to look in. Agon had been to this particular show so many times by then that he could time it. Sena would sit close to Agon, glancing at him every now and then while watching the movie, Agon would grit his teeth and lounge back against the folded futon that served as a couch as if he couldn't have come then and there if there'd been just the slightest friction, and maybe an hour into it Sena would lean into his arm, as nervous as a stray cat, and Agon would ignore him until he relaxed, until Sena's head sort of laid itself against Agon's shoulder, and then Agon would put his arm around Sena's back until his hand was against Sena's hip and then _that would be it_. The next hour would be spent actually _watching_ the fucking movie, and then Agon would get up and go home and beat off in the shower until he regained some semblance of sanity.

He didn't know what the _fuck_ he was doing there.

While Sena turned on his TV and put in the Kurosawa DVD, Agon slid his shades up into his dreads, took out his phone, brought up his list of girls' numbers, titled _Bitches_, and just looked at it.

"Fuck," he muttered.

"Huh?" asked Sena, looking over his shoulder.

"Nothing. Trash."

A click, and the whole thing was deleted. Now his contacts list was made up of exactly three numbers: Shit Parents, Unko-chan, and Fucking Virgin.

Somehow, Agon wasn't quite as pissed as he'd expected to be.

Sena was looking at him. An unfamiliar look, as if he didn't know what he was looking at, that made the hair on the back of Agon's neck stand. A look that was...deciding. Agon ignored it.

It was a good thing Agon wasn't entirely bored by Kurosawa movies. He'd seen _Ran_ once years ago, but somehow it was better than he remembered it. So much better, in fact, that he even became a little absorbed by it, to the point where, when Sena's weight pressed against his arm, he didn't react except to automatically lift his arm and fit Sena in and to raise his knee to keep his erection from being too obvious.

Then, right around the time Jiro was getting it on with Lady Kaede, Agon felt something slip under his shirt and the light, hesitant touch of fingertips against his stomach.

_Fuck._

He glanced at Sena. Who was looking down, his dark eyes lowered beneath dark lashes, the sight of his face making something in Agon's stomach tighten in a way that was new to him.

Sena, who was so close to him, one hand holding on to Agon's shirt at the shoulder, the other—

Agon—stayed completely still, his eyes on the TV.

The hand—stroked along his stomach, the index finger tracing his muscles. Agon could hear Sena breathing nervously, and the hand—small against his abdominal muscles, slipping lower now, below the navel, beneath his belt and—

Agon clenched his hands into fists, and closed his eyes.

Fingers touched his cock first, over the shorts, timidly, uncertainly. Sena shifted against Agon's side, and his head leaned into the curve of Agon's neck and shoulder. Agon could feel Sena's breath on his skin, the mouth moving against the flesh beneath his collarbone as Sena whispered, _Here..._

The fingers became a grip, shaky but firm. Sena began to stroke, still somewhat unsteady but growing surer, and the base of his palm slid over the wet head—

"Haaa," breathed Agon, into Sena's hair.

For a hand job it was brief, sloppy, and almost completely incompetent. Sena obviously had no fucking idea what he was doing. The movements were too short, the handling either too choppy or not stiff enough, and the angle was unhelpful. There was no rhythm, too many stops, and the balls went totally unnoticed.

At the last second, just as he felt his control slipping away, Agon caught at Sena—who gasped, his huge, wide eyes almost frightened—and pulled him underneath as Agon rolled over on top of the fucking virgin, and those few seconds, that brief instant when Sena was under him and Sena's hands were clutching at his shoulder or on his cock and he could thrust against Sena's body, even if clothes were in the way and Sena was making a strangled whimper in his throat—

Then _release_ filled his body and Agon came into Sena's hand harder than he'd ever come in his life.

Beneath him, Sena was gasping for air.

When Agon finally lifted his head, Sena was looking up at him with something like perplexed wonder.

"Agon," he breathed. "You—I mean—"

On screen, Sue and Tsurumaru were fleeing. Sena's face was flushed and his eyes were—

He looked at Agon as if—

Agon sneered.

Sena looked away, biting his lip.

His shorts were a mess. Sena's hand was wet and still on his cock, which was already twitching again.

"Fucking trash," said Agon.

And thrust again, against Sena's hand and hip, as if to make a point. Sena didn't look at him.

Agon took a few minutes to move.

3\. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Do. Not. Own.

**Warnings:** Rating for language, sexual concepts, and acts. This is **yaoi**.

**A/N:** **Hardcore. Explicit.** I was embarrassed just typing this.

**Additionally:** Should I...beg for reviews? Because I'm not above that.

I know, I know, I'm pathetic. It's been a tough couple of months. D: And I'm feeling insecure.

Seriously, though, I could use an honest critique.

* * *

When, on his way to what would have been his third hand job (and first blow job, he'd decided that morning that he _would not_ take no for an answer) from Sena, Agon caught some asshole from Deimon walking the fucking virgin home, he got blood under his fingernails and broken up with for the first time in his life—

—"We're _done_!" shouted Sena. "I _don't_ want to see you again—"

—except he _didn't_, because there could not _be_ a break-up, because Sena and he were _not_ dating.

"'We're over?'" Agon looked at Sena with an expression that indicated disbelief and contempt in equal parts. "Bitch, when were we—"

_Happening,_ was what he was getting at, except that was when the blonde fucker he'd just chokeslammed into the wall got to his feet, blood gushing from the cut at his temple, yelled "YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!", and blindsided Agon from the left.

Later, what Agon mostly remembered of the fight was the other guy repeatedly hitting Agon in the chin like he was wearing brass fucking knuckles and Sena struggling to get between them, shouting for them to _Stop, Agon, Jyuumonji, stop, stop it—_. At one point, Agon, irritated, tried to swat Sena out of the way so he get a clear shot at breaking the blonde trash's face, except he pushed Sena a little too hard (except what _wasn't_ too hard for the fag, really, ha) and Sena went into the wall headfirst and then the blonde asshole just went fucking_ hysterical_, like Agon had just shoved his old lady down the stairs, and there were a few minutes where they were just mad dogging each other, shouting and punching and shoving into walls with everything they had, and then there was a cop at the corner blowing his whistle and hurrying toward them.

Agon's jaw was swelling. His glasses were gone. The blonde's face was awash with blood. Sena was just sitting up, hand to his forehead.

It pissed Agon off to _no end_ that they both reached for Sena at the same time.

"What the _fuck_," said the blonde. He had Sena's shoulder.

"Fuck off," answered Agon. He had Sena's arm.

"Let go," demanded the asshole. He was pulling Sena toward him.

"Eat shit and die," said Agon, and yanked on Sena's arm.

Sena's jacket tore at the shoulder and then Agon was picking Sena up, over the shoulder, ignoring the whimper of pain.

The blonde's eyes narrowed and he stepped forward like he'd throw another fist, except by then the cop was breathing down their necks. There wasn't any time.

They both took off running.

At the very first four-way they came to, Agon reached out and shoved the blonde into the leftmost one and then put on a burst of speed into the rightmost. He heard the blonde cursing behind him, shouting threats, but the cop was too close and the asshole didn't have time to catch up to Agon—not that he could have. Agon had finally managed to place the face—_That trash linebacker._—and knew the fucker was nowhere near fast enough. He adjusted Sena on his shoulder and made for an alley.

Getting to Sena's house was easy enough. The cop fell behind, wheezing for his life, only three blocks after Agon had lost the blonde, and then it was just a matter of circling the neighborhood. Sena barely moved on his shoulder, and his elbow was in Agon's neck where he clutched his forehead. Was he _still_ upset? Agon tried to gauge the situation with a hand on Sena's ass.

Sena didn't react. Fuck.

By the time they got to Sena's front gate, it was mostly dark and the streetlamps had begun going on. The house lights were off and Sena moved on Agon's shoulder.

"Put me down," said Sena.

"Your parents out?"

"Put me _down_."

Agon let his arm drop and Sena fell.

The short trash didn't complain. He didn't even gasp, or whimper. He just got back to his feet, holding onto the gate for support, that fucking hand still on his forehead. He hadn't hit the wall that hard, had he?

Was that blood on his face?

"Che." Agon took Sena's wrist. "Let me see."

_"No—"_ Sena pulled away, like he could break Agon's grip. Agon took Sena's face in his other hand and turned him toward the light.

The bruise was purpling already, a huge blotch over Sena's left eyebrow. The flesh had broken just below the hairline, and blood was trickling down the side of Sena's face, smeared where his hand and wrist had touched his face. The bruise looked like someone had taken a hammer to Sena's face, and the cut was probably going to scar unless he got stitches.

Fucking trash. Trust him to come off worst from someone else's fight.

"Fucking trash." He pulled Sena's wrist. "You're going to the hospital."

Sena yanked his wrist out of Agon's hand. Agon was taken aback enough that he let it happen.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," said Sena.

Agon raised an eyebrow at him. Sena's eyes reflected the yellow glare of the nearest streetlamp and his face was set and serious.

"You're sulking?" Agon was scornful. "Because I hit some asshole you know from school?"

"Jyuumonji's _not_ an asshole!" Sena was—_angry_? At _him_? "And you hurt him! For no reason!"

Agon—paused. Sena was angry. Because Agon had hurt the blonde? Some blonde asshole he'd been walking with after school—

Walking together. After school. To Sena's _house_.

Something in Agon's brain went cold and tight. His hands were fists and he hadn't consciously done that. In his mind he was seeing it again, the blonde and Sena walking down the street toward Sena's house together. Talking together. Laughing together. Casually bumping each other with elbows and shoulders.

The expression on Sena's face.

"You giving it to him?" he said, and his voice came out low and quiet and _sharp_.

Sena's eyes widened. "What?"

But all the anger had gone out of Sena's face. Now it was white, under the bruise and the blood, and Agon, looking directly at Sena, saw exactly how Sena flinched, how he stopped himself from taking a step back from Agon.

How Sena's eyes wouldn't meet his.

Sena's arm was in Agon's hand and Agon was kicking open the front door to the empty house, the lock giving way beneath his foot. Sena was protesting, _No, Agon, you can't, my parents—_, but Agon wasn't hearing him. He was dragging Sena up the stairs, the front door swinging closed behind them, Sena was struggling and shouting, _Stop it, Agon, I want you to leave, you have to leave!_, and Agon wasn't hearing it because he could almost _see_ what it was probably like, that blonde in the locker room with Sena, or maybe in a restroom stall, stroking Sena's hair as Sena—

He slammed open the door to Sena's room. It was only dimly lit, mostly from the window, where the curtains were a dull orange from a nearby streetlamp.

"Agon, don't—"

Agon wrenched Sena around by his arm and threw him into the room.

Sena in class, sitting next to that blonde. At practice, being tackled to the grass, the blonde heavy and panting on top of him. Leaving school, laughing as the blonde's hand tousled his hair.

In the restroom, in the showers, in the locker room, in an empty classroom—

Sena hit the wall with his shoulder, and then Agon was there—his hands slamming into the wall to either side above Sena's head, and his face in Sena's.

"You giving it to him?"

The fucking virgin was breathing hard, like he'd start hyperventilating any minute, and he could have been shaking. The blood was congealing on the side of his face and Agon could smell the shampoo Sena had used when he showered after practice.

They were very, very close.

"I—I'm not," said Sena, still not looking at him. "I'm not, and it's none of your business—and I want you to leave, because—"

_My parents aren't home,_ Sena didn't say, but he didn't have to. Agon was acutely aware of the silent house, the lights all off. Some corner of his brain calculated how far a scream would carry.

"You scared, trash?" Agon leaned closer, almost breathing in Sena's face. "You think I'll do something?"

Sena _was_ shaking. "I'm not."

Agon looked at him.

And his hands slid down the wall.

Sena went still when Agon took his shoulders. It was enough to make Agon pause, to see what Sena would do. But Sena didn't do anything, just stood there with his wide eyes on the floor, and so Agon put both his hands on Sena's shoulders and turned him around.

There was no resistance. Agon found that interesting. The desk was right next to them, and he pushed Sena almost experimentally toward it, against the side of it until Sena's belt buckle scraped the wooden edge.

Sena abruptly laid his hands flat on the surface of the desk.

Agon's heart rate picked up. He stared down into the back of Sena's head and tried to hear the intake of breath that meant a scream was coming. He got nothing but slow, shaky breaths that sounded more as if Sena was trying not to hiccup.

Quietly, Agon said, again, "You think I'll do something?"

His erection pressed up against Sena's back, and Sena jumped almost three inches, jostling the desk. The shaking had gotten really bad, and if it hadn't been for Agon's hands on Sena's shoulders, Agon thought Sena might have just toppled right over. He tried pushing down with his hands, against Sena's shoulders at an angle, putting some weight into it.

Sena moved forward, toward his hands flat on the desktop, until he was bent over the edge of the desk with only a few inches between his cheek and the wood. Each breath was a loud, harsh gasp.

He _still_ didn't say anything.

Agon's mouth was dry, which was something he'd never experienced before. For some reason he glanced at the window, the weak light coming through it, and then he reached down and around Sena's hips to undo the belt.

Sena didn't look around. He shivered when his pants were pushed down, but that was it. When his shorts followed, he held very, very still, even when Agon's fingernails grazed the skin inside his knees.

Agon undid his own belt while watching the back of Sena's neck, the tip of Sena's chin. Any second now. Any second now, Sena would shriek like a fucking bitch, cry rape, elbow Agon in the balls and—

His cock on Sena's skin made him hiss between his teeth, it felt _so fucking good_. He was leaking pre-cum everywhere and Sena was shaking again but otherwise not moving. Why wasn't he _saying_ anything? Agon put a hand flat on Sena's back to hold him and positioned his cock with the other.

"Open your legs," he said, and was mildly irritated at how clenched his jaw was.

Sena tried to spread out his legs, but his feet were barely touching the floor. It occurred to Agon to put Sena against the wall instead, but then the head of his cock found a tight, hot-skinned place and he was pushing with his hips as hard as he—

A choked, pained cry tore out of Sena's mouth and was followed by panicked whimpering and some movement of the feet as if Sena wanted to struggle. Agon stopped moving mostly because it felt as if the skin was being torn off the tip of his penis.

"Fuck." Too dry. What to—hand cream. On the desk. The kind Agon had seen Ikkyu use for when his hands were too chafed by—

He did NOT want to think about IKKYU. Agon shook his head to try and get the half-formed thought of that point-haired fucker out his head, and his erection was starting to die and he was going to fucking _kill_ _Ikkyu_ if—

Sena whimpered pitifully.

Agon leaned over Sena to keep him in place while he opened the lotion. Sena's skin beneath him—the trembling body pinned under his weight, the arched shoulders, and Agon briefly wondered what this would be like if Sena were wearing his football helmet—

The lotion smeared with the pre-cum and Agon considered putting a finger in first to help Sena adjust. But it was getting uncomfortably hot in that room, his shirt sticking to his skin with sweat and Sena gasping for breath under him and _why_ wasn't he _saying_ anything and so Agon just put a hand on the desk beside Sena's head with his face almost in Sena's hair and shoved his slicked cock against Sena's anus.

Sena choked and gasped and it seemed _impossible_ that this would work, but then there was the _slightest_ bit of give, of flesh giving way, and then Agon felt maybe the first half-inch slide in. Sena was struggling now, convulsing as if he couldn't help it because it hurt so much, and Agon put his free hand on Sena's back and he _thrust_, putting his leg muscles into it. Some speechless noise of pain ripped out of Sena's throat and then Agon was in, at least two-thirds, and it was so _tight_, so _hot_, so constricting, every movement of Sena's body a different kind of pressure on his cock. Agon's head was light and buzzing as if he were drunk and his mouth was open as he breathed. Someone was exhaling _ah, ah_, and someone else was gasping _nnn_ to every thrust. He couldn't remember what had been bothering him and he held Sena by the waist and shoulder with his hands and he was thrusting as much as he could, his cock sliding in and out to Sena's whimpers. It wouldn't fit all the way in, and this for some reason _infuriated_ Agon. He thrust harder and harder until he seemed to distantly hear someone sobbing almost hysterically somewhere near him, and then he wasn't hearing anything because the climax took him by surprise and he gripped a handful of Sena's hair as he came.

When Agon opened his eyes again, Sena was crying.

Not loudly. Not like earlier, when Agon had been—he was just crying, quietly, stifling it as much as he could. Agon could feel Sena's body shaking beneath his, the long, controlled gasps. Like he could hide it.

Agon had collapsed on top of Sena. Getting up was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done.

He pulled out quickly, almost rushing. There was a sticky feeling and then he was out and stepping away from Sena. Who stayed there for another couple of heartbeats, bent over the side of the desk, before rising shakily on one arm.

Agon pulled up his shorts and pants, ignoring the mess. He had his zipper up and belt buckled before he looked at Sena.

Who was reaching for his shorts, a hand on the desk to brace himself for the weakness in his legs.

"Trash," said Agon.

And then he left.

He didn't look back. Or he didn't mean to, but as he turned right just outside the door, he couldn't help seeing, out of the corner of his eye, Sena, leaning against the wall, holding his pants up to his hips. His back turned, facing straight ahead toward the window, neither glancing back toward the door or to the side. As if he had neither heard Agon nor noticed him leaving, as if there was already no one there.

Then Agon was going down the stairs and out the front door and Sena still hadn't said a thing.

Agon felt a peculiar sense of relief as he headed toward the station. _Finally._ After all those weeks of _bullshit_. And it hadn't even turned out to be anything in particular, even if it had been fucking _hot_, and it had been the _tightest_ thing he'd _ever_ felt. He was certain doing a chick in the ass would be about the same thing. The important thing was that he'd finally satisfied that particular compulsion and he was _free at last_, wouldn't have to sit through another awkward Kurosawa movie ever again. That fucking fag—not a virgin anymore—could go and blow all the blonde assholes he wa—

Agon paused. And slowed, almost coming to a stop in front of the train station. A couple of heavily make-uped _yanki_ girls eyed him as they walked by.

Fuck this. He would take a taxi.

His dick was still a mess, but he decided to go straight to the club. He'd take a few shots, pick up a bitch or two, and take a shower at the motel. Agon was feeling an urgent need to rinse the faggotry off as soon as he could. He supposed this took care of his experimental phase, and hopefully that was it. And if he ever saw that piece of shit Hiruma again, it was going to be _the shit_, being able to rub the fact that he'd done that pointy-eared bastard's so-fucking-obvious fixation in the ass. Agon would always be the one who'd done the fag first, even if Hiruma made a grab for Sena now that—

Agon felt his lips pull back from his teeth and he realized he was scowling. At nothing. The taxi was pulling up to a curb and the driver was waiting to be paid, because they were at the club.

The usual crowd. The usual girls. One blonde recognized him and got all up in his face, rubbing her tits on him. "Agon-chan, I haven't seen you in so looong—"

She stank of perfume, and Agon was struck with a memory of the smell of Sena's hair that was so strong he was briefly dizzy.

"Off, bitch," he said, and went to get his shots.

He picked out the girls almost immediately, two of them by the bar, dressed slightly less skanky than the rest, both on the short side with dark hair and dark eyes. They were already pretty drunk, and one convincing smile was enough to get them giggling. One of them had hair almost the exact same color as Sena's—not that Agon gave a shit—and the other had skin nearly as white.

At one point he was close enough to catch the scent of their hair, and somehow it was disappointing.

Agon had had every intention of heading to the motel as soon as he could. But then the bartender started putting down shots, the bitches were urging Agon to take them, and somehow he lost track. One shot became three and three became seven. One bitch was pressed against his side, her hands nearly under his shirt, and suddenly he was flashing back to the sight of his hand on Sena's back as he thrust.

Then he had an erection, and he had to wait to stand up. And those shots were just _sitting_ there.

"Agon-chan, you're drunk."

"Am fucking not," said Agon, and then he was kissing somebody. No, someone was kissing him. Someone wearing lipstick.

Yet when they pulled apart, what came out of his mouth was, "Sena."

Eyeliner-blackened eyes narrowed. "I'm _Aiko_," a female voice said, somewhat sharply.

"Sure," said Agon, and stood up.

_Why_ hadn't he said anything? Agon had basically dragged the fucking trash into his empty house and raped him, and that didn't elicit a mention? Not a single protest? And through the whole thing, but particularly when he'd obviously been hurting Sena, nothing. No fight, no screaming, nothing. Just a sort of muted capitulation, the kind of submission the expectation of which Agon had had beaten out of him with a lamp. Where had _that_ Sena gone? Had it really just been a one-off thing, like the fucking Kojima, once every seven years Sena has balls? And then to say _nothing_ when Agon had left, just left, to say nothing and not even _look_. Had his head injury been more serious than it looked? Had it disoriented him? _Why_ the _fuck_ hadn't he said anything?

That blonde. Almost as tall as Agon himself was, almost as wide in the shoulders. A waste of fucking space on the field, a passable offensive guard at most, and now he was walking Sena home from school. Was probably coming around even now to check on him, to see how he was, to say and do everything but just come out and ask if he could go ahead and stick it in. That blonde asshole, sniffing around Sena like a dog in heat—

Agon wasn't sure where he was. Then a voice told him "Hey, man, don't throw up back there. Where to?" and Agon answered.

It was late. The street was quiet. The house was still dark and Agon stood looking at it, trying to decide whether Sena's parents were home or not. He had this idea that he wasn't supposed to be there, but he was and it was late and he needed to sleep off the drunk. He tried the gate, but it was locked.

So he jumped the wall.

The front door was locked, too. He considered kicking it again, but then decided he'd outrun the police enough times for one day.

So he went out into the yard and picked out Sena's window and then he climbed up onto the roof.

_Oh, fucking genius,_ some part of his brain was telling him, but Agon didn't care. The window was open, naturally—because Sena's not just a fag, he's also _stupid_—and then Agon was in Sena's room.

Sena was asleep. He lay on his side, an arm flung over his head, the blankets up to his chin. He didn't _look_ like a rape victim. The skin of his throat was white in the dark of the room and he was breathing softly, easily. Agon stared at him, standing there drunk and still stained, and felt suddenly that he'd never, never, never wanted anything more than he wanted to lie down next to that in his life.

He took off his jacket, left it in a heap next to the open window. He went to a knee, lifted the blanket, and slid under it, right up against Sena's back, his arm folding around Sena's waist.

Sena groaned, and shifted around. His arm left his face and Agon could now see the bandage over the cut.

Dark, sleep-filled eyes opened.

"Mmmnnn?" mumbled Sena, and, before he could get control of himself, Agon leaned forward and put his mouth on Sena's.

Not quite a kiss. Just two mouths together, and Agon—experimentally—touching Sena's lips with his tongue. It was weird, and a little revolting, but then he pulled away and Sena was staring wide-eyed up at him.

This was probably the part where the fucking trash screamed bloody murder. _Rape!_ or _Help!_ or maybe even _Mommy!_ Then Agon would have to make him be quiet and either threaten him into silence or get violent. The idea that he'd committed rape, breaking and entering, trespassing, and molestation of a minor all in one night was beginning to sober him up. At this rate, all that was left was murder.

Then Sena threw his arms around Agon's neck.

"Agon," he whispered. "You came back."

And kissed him.

On the mouth.

Soft and wet, tongue against tongue. Sena's mouth opening to his and letting him take control, Sena's arms around his neck but imploringly, not in any way that was demanding or needy. Tasting like sleep and toothpaste and Sena.

Agon closed his eyes.

4\. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Do. Not. Own.

**Warnings:** Rating for language, sexual concepts, and acts. This is **yaoi**.

**A/N:** **Hardcore. Explicit.** I was embarrassed just typing this.

**Additionally:** There was a divorce. I'd rather not talk about it.

I'm giving priority to this fic, because I've pretty much been thinking about how to end it all year. After this, I'm feeling Yarichin.

I have no time to edit right now. To be corrected later. This is also the longest goddamn chapter I've ever written in my life.

Someone please write some serious Musashi/Sena.

* * *

For a while after that, Sena would _not_ stop touching Agon.

It was fucking _great_. Where before Sena had been about as aggressive as the Virgin Mary, now all Agon had to do was _show up_ and Sena was ready to go. That was more the fuck like it. Agon was beginning to think that maybe there was something to all that virgin bride shit after all. It had never occurred to him how the preceding months of resistance could make the inevitable surrender that much sweeter, as resistance had never been something that featured too highly in any of his encounters. Anticipation had never been something he'd had to worry about for longer than a few hours, maybe a whole twenty-four if the bitch was playing hard to get, and even three months and a day ago, he would have laughed at the idea that he would wait three months for anyone. Granted, he'd only been celibate for one of those months, but what the fuck, like he was St. Agon?

And goddamn, but the fucking ex-virgin had taken his fucking time. Those wide-eyed looks, the trembling proximity, the whining about how his parents were right down stairs. Either ignoring or laughing nervously at Agon's suggestions of _bite the pillow_ or _we'll be quiet, they won't hear _or _I know this motel._ Whimpering and struggling frantically any time Agon tried to exert a little friendly pressure. The fact that, in the end, it had taken something not too short of force to get the fucking brat to take it hadn't exactly been a surprise, even if the results had been completely unexpected.

Agon had also become a fixture at the Kobayakawa house. Sena's mother seemed to have warmed up to him a little, and had started referring to him as _Agon-kun_. Sena's father had actually taken notice of Agon's existence though apparently not his name, as he still referred to Agon as _that boy who thinks he's black_. Both seemed to have accepted that Agon was, in fact, despite appearance and attitude and the laws of nature, a good friend of Sena's and were no longer quite as alarmed by his frequent visits. Sena-Mom had even given him cookies to take home with him once.

It gave Agon a special kind of pleasure to smile innocently and politely greet the Kobayakawas as he came into their home, on his way upstairs to nail their son.

The fucking trash didn't seem to mind. In fact, he would barely wait for the door to close behind Agon before he was _all over_ the Kongo goods. Sliding his hands up under Agon's shirt, yanking him down by a fistful of jacket, Sena's mouth on his neck, his ear, his face, his own. Pulling Agon insistently into the room, practically climbing him like he was a fucking jungle gym or something. Making little noises under his breath as Agon grabbed back at him, not a whisper of protest as Agon stripped him.

Sena seemed to really like touching Agon. Really, _really_ like it. It was as if his virginity had taken all his inhibitions with it—the way he explored Agon with his fingers, his lips, his tongue. Pulling determinedly at Agon's shirt, until Agon either took it off or let Sena take it off, which amused him and seemed to turn Sena on to no end. Once, Sena had even taken a handful of Agon's dreads as they were getting started and fucking _yanked_ it, which had had Agon groaning with the effort not to jizz his pants right there.

That Sena couldn't get enough of him was no shock to Agon. After all, this was some godly stuff right here. Superior genetics at work, if anyone wanted to know. It seemed to him the most natural thing in the world that someone, especially a fag like Sena, would want to worship at the temple of Kongo Agon. So he let Sena push him about a little, let him touch him here and there and kiss him and rub up against him and even undress him, sometimes, because _of course_ the fucking trash couldn't help himself. And it was always Agon who took care of business anyway, who eventually rolled Sena over and delivered, so a little playacting beforehand could be forgiven. Besides, it could get pretty hot, especially when Sena used his teeth or tried to shove him onto his back or even tried to climb on top like he was going to—

Agon considered it extremely generous of himself, to let Sena hang on to his delusions of grandeur.

And the fucking ex-virgin was relentless. _Insatiable._ Agon could scarcely believe how fucking _rad_ everything had turned out, that the shy, scared little Sena would turn out to be such a nympho. It was always the quiet one, wasn't it? Goddamn, but the pointy-eared fucker had missed out, which was something else that always left Agon in a good mood for hours whenever he thought about it. As if no one could see the pathetic little longing glances the bastard was always throwing at his pet project, as if anyone with eyes couldn't tell what a boner the demented trash had for his most valuable player. If he ever found out—

Eh. It was probably better if he didn't. Not that _Agon_ cared, but the fucking ex-virgin, for whatever reason, seemed to think that Hiruma's opinion actually _meant something_, and there was always the chance he'd revert if there was enough peer pressure. And Agon didn't feel like disturbing the current very gratifying setup, even for what would be a _very_ satisfying own on the knife-eared bastard, almost as good as the time the fatass hadn't gotten into Shinryuji.

That could always come later.

So for a month after the night he'd gotten drunk and broken into the ex-virgin's house, Agon spent most of his time fucking Sena. He hadn't expected it to last a week before he'd get bored, but then that week went by and he was still taking the train to the Deimon neighborhood almost every afternoon. Which meant nothing, because how was _he_ supposed to have guessed that Sena would turn out to be such a cock addict? This required at least another week of tapping.

The second week went by. Then a third.

By the fourth, Agon began to question himself. Twenty days in, and he actually caught himself waiting to be tired of it. To have Sena throw himself at Agon's washboard abs and feel nothing but bored. To have the trash try to kiss him and for the taste of Sena's mouth to be old news. To look at Sena below him, naked and moaning for Agon to keep going, and feel only contempt.

Somehow, Sena stayed hot.

_Really_ hot. So hot that when a stacked foreign bitch in what had to be a record-breakingly tiny mini tried to catch his eye on the street, Agon ignored her and walked right on by, because he was about to miss the five o'clock train to Sena's neighborhood. So hot that when Agon woke in the morning with his own Tokyo Tower happening under the sheet, he briefly considered calling the stupid fag and ordering him to skip class that day and come over. So hot that when, on the rare occasion that he was forced to attend class or practice, he stared off into space, it wasn't supermodels or the latest Porsche or the NFL career he'd have someday that he daydreamed about, but the strangled sound Sena made into his hand at that first real thrust.

The fourth week went by, and somehow Agon still wasn't bored.

Then something even stranger happened.

Agon started staying longer.

There was nothing intentional about it. His policy was get in, get out. He had shit to do, and sticking around the fucking trash's house wasn't one of them. An hour or two of fucking, and then he either went to the gym or headed home or attended some enforced meeting with the football club. Agon was a man with a schedule. He had _things to do_. None of them were categorized under Pillow Talk.

But one late afternoon, he opened his eyes and realized that despite the fact that it had been nearly twenty minutes since anyone had come, he was _still there_, Sena sticky and quiet under him.

He immediately got up, dressed, and left, ignoring the way Sena didn't watch him go.

The next day, he made a point of leaving almost before the come had dried. Again, Sena said nothing and didn't watch him go, busy cleaning himself up as much as he could with a small towel that he probably hid from his mother. Agon told Sena-Mom and Sena-Dad good night very curtly on his way out, and then kicked at stray dogs and cats (and some not so stray, judging by the wailing children) the entire way to the station, where he proceeded to attempt to get into a fight with a bunch of Zokugaku losers who ran as soon as they figured out who had just knocked their juice cans out of their hands.

The day after that, he got caught up in the fucking and didn't realize that he'd forgotten to leave right away until nearly _thirty minutes_ after they'd finished.

He laid there, staring up at the ceiling, Sena dozing next to him.

Agon had this strange feeling of waiting for something. For what? He'd already come, _twice_. Maybe for a third? Except he was feeling relaxed and lazy and like he didn't want to move for a while, though he was saving the option. For it to be later? He had no plans for the night, unless he meant to go to the gym...

Sena didn't speak. In fact, Agon could have sworn the fucking trash was asleep.

Which pissed Agon off, though he couldn't quite explain why. On impulse, he stuck his elbow in Sena's side.

Who woke up with a strangled yelp. And then looked at Agon, blinking. "What?"

Agon opened his mouth, but nothing occurred to him. The fucking ex-virgin was staring at him, but not as if he was waiting with stifled breath to hear what pearls dropped from Agon's lips.

No. Sena looked kind of impatient. And annoyed.

Agon almost choked with fury. Then he thought about choking Sena.

Then he pulled on his clothes and left.

What the _fuck_?

Since when had the fucking brat been giving him lip? He remembered those first few days—_"Agon! How—how was school? Did you go?" _and_ "How was practice? Did you go?" _and_ "How are things at home? Have you been there lately?"_—and shit, hadn't Sena been a chatty bitch? Always wanting to talk, always wanting to ask questions, always wanting Agon to be interested in things he had to say. What had happened to that? Where had that Sena gone, the one who had thrown his arms around Agon's neck and told him, _You came back._

Agon thought back, and realized he couldn't remember the last time Sena had tried to initiate a conversation. Now that he really paid some attention to the events of the past several weeks, it became obvious to him that there was actually very little talking. Unless it was related to fucking, such as _harder, Agon, harder_ or _more, yes, yes, yes, more_ or _ah, that hurts, ah_. Other than that, Sena had become almost mute.

Which was _awesome_, except that Agon was, for some reason, angry as fuck.

Agon felt himself to be a very self-aware person, so it wasn't surprising to him that he would perversely be pissed off that he was getting exactly what he wanted. He just decided it was Sena's fault.

So the next day, Agon referred back to his Dealing With Bitches Handbook and didn't go over to Sena's house. He went to a salon instead, because his dreads needed some maintenance, and spent the entire time making lewd suggestions to the blonde 26C doing the touch-up work. She slipped him her number as he was leaving, which he tossed into the trashcan on the way out. That hag was thirty if she was a day.

At that point, it was nearly eight o'clock, and Agon was feeling mellow when he checked his phone.

To find zero missed calls, no texts, and one e-mail from Unko-chan swearing eternal nagging if Agon didn't come by the house that night to let their parents know he was still alive.

The rage that descended on him then was all-consuming. He wasn't too certain as to its point of origin or its purpose; all he knew was that he was torqued and someone needed to pay for it. Because _how. Fucking. Dare. That stupid fag._

This wasn't how it_ worked_.

Who the _shit_ did Sena think he was?

Close by the salon, in front of a conveni, there were a bunch of bald fuckers still in their high school uniforms hanging around. Agon made short work of them—who the fuck was _Housen_?—which did almost nothing to make him feel any calmer. Surrounded by groaning bodies, Agon had his phone out and was holding it to his ear before the adrenaline had stopped pulsing in his temples.

The fucking trash answered at the sixth ring. _"Hello?"_

"What the fuck?" demanded Agon.

_"Agon?" _Sena's voice was almost a whisper.

"Who the fuck else would it be?"

There was a pause. It occurred to Agon that maybe Sena _did_ in fact have other people he routinely expected calls from, and his teeth were grinding together with such violence that he was almost sure Sena could hear it.

He was opening his mouth to say—something—when in the background, Agon heard a distinctly male voice say, _What's up, Sena?_

"WHAT THE FUCK," shouted Agon. He kicked the nearest prostrate baldy for good measure, though the strangled whimper didn't make him feel anything but angrier. "Who the fuck is that?"

_"Um, no one,"_ said Sena quickly. _"I can't talk right now, though, I'll call you back—"_

"Don't you fucking hang up—"

_"Yes, Mom,"_ said Sena loudly, _"I'll be home soon."_

And then the phone went fucking dead.

It was as if every dimension of space and time came to a single, simultaneous stop as Agon tried to decide whether to throw the phone at the wall or murder someone.

One of the baldies, the largest one who was back on his feet despite the swollen lip and black eye, snorted. "Sounds like your girl's playing you, bro. You think maybe it's your homo hair?"

The only thing that saved the mouthy bastard a broken skull and Agon his first murder charge was the cop car that came screeching into the parking lot, prompting everyone, bald and dreaded alike, to scatter. Agon committed the uniform style to memory and swore that he would never again see another Housen badge without killing whoever was wearing it.

Then he went to Sena's house.

Sena-Mom answered the door. "Oh! Agon-kun! Sena isn't home. He went to a club meeting. Do you want to wait?"

"Please, Kobayakawa-san," smiled Agon.

Up in Sena's room, he wasted no time in going through Sena's desk. Which turned out to be boring as hell, because the fucking trash didn't keep anything interesting there. Some pictures, particularly from the Christmas Bowl and the World Cup (he tore up the one of Sena and that big-teethed Yamato asshole in what seemed to be some sort of fagtastic hug in their World Cup uniforms), and mostly graded homework, all of it extremely poorly done. Agon was examining the results of a math exam from earlier in the year and wondering if stupidity could be sexually transmitted when the door opened behind him.

Agon put down the exam sheet and turned.

"Agon?" Sena was still in uniform himself, both his schoolbag and his sports duffel over his shoulder. "I thought you were busy."

He didn't look at all frightened. The light played on Sena's hair, and his eyes were huge and dark and soft.

Agon made the decision to stay angry. "Che."

Sena set down his bags in front of the door, and then, with a long glance at Agon, he pushed in the lock.

And then he came over and touched Agon's arm.

"Ne, Agon," he whispered. His dark, dark eyes, the scent of his skin—

Agon shrugged Sena's hand off.

Sena blinked, and hesitated. "...Agon?"

Agon folded his arms, leaning back against the desk.

Now Sena looked totally confused. "Um, Agon?"

"Oh, good," said Agon, glaring through his shades. "You know my fucking name."

The fucking trash's eyes widened. "What?"

Agon scowled. That had sounded much better in his head, where the sarcasm had been sharp and condescending. Out loud, it was somehow less biting and more bitchy. "Where the fuck were you?"

"Team meeting," said Sena, without hesitating. "I'm sorry I hung up on you. Kuroki was there and, uh..." He seemed flustered.

"Che."

There was a silence that was somehow awkward. Agon was glaring at Sena and Sena was looking more unnerved by the second, and as if he wasn't sure whether he should be calling the police or not.

"Okay," said the fucking trash, voice slightly higher than it had been. "I—uh—I understand that you're angry, Agon, but—but I...I'm not sure what I did..."

Of course this fucking idiot didn't! "Of course you don't, you fucking idiot!"

Sena actually had the balls to look offended. "You don't have to be like that! You could just—just tell me what it is—"

For some reason, Agon was thinking about that first night, when he'd been drunk enough to pass on easy pussy and climb through second-story windows. When he'd collapsed next to Sena, his blood alcohol level high enough to have outright killed someone as small as this stupid trash, and then there'd been a long, lazy hour of drunk and sleepy kisses. When Sena had put his arms around Agon's neck and Agon had been too wasted to be very grossed out, and there'd been such kisses—long, wet kisses, with Sena complaining in murmurs of how much he hated alcohol; short, fleeting kisses, where Sena left the briefest memories of his lips on the corners of Agon's mouth; hot, burning kisses, Sena biting tentatively at Agon's chin and lips like a nervous kitten and Agon loaded enough to let him; and the kisses that had come at the edge of sleep, as Agon dozed off and Sena head grew heavy on his shoulder, the last things Agon remembered before there was light coming through the window and dogs were barking outside and Sena's cat was meowing plaintively at his door and Agon had to get his hungover ass up and out the window because he could hear Sena-Mom coming up the stairs.

And this, for some reason, made Agon angrier than he'd ever been before in his life.

"It's all you," said Agon—and his voice came out flat and cold, sharp and gleaming, like a knife. "You—you fucking trash, it's all your fault—"

The fucking ex-virgin's face changed—now, for the first time in a long while, he actually looked sort of frightened. "I—I don't—"

"Shut the fuck up! You don't know anything! You're a stupid piece of shit who can't do anything but run! I can't believe I wasted so much goddamn time on a faggot like you! Fucking slut, that's all you're good for—an easy lay! You whoring it up at school, too? You spreading it for Hiruma? Or maybe that blonde shit, the one you were sooo worried about—"

Sena was standing very still. His face had paled, and his eyes were like bruises in all that white skin.

"That it? You bringing them by when I'm not here? Taking it up the ass from anyone now? I bet you suck them off in the locker room, no wonder your shitty football club's so fucking popular this year! Figures you can't get enough of it, not a jumpoff like you, you fucking cunt—"

Agon unfolded his arms and pushed himself off the desk, moving toward Sena, who'd begun to tremble. He was so angry, he wanted to _hurt_ someone—he wanted to hurt Sena, wanted to see this fucking trash on his goddamn knees, he wanted this ex-cocksucking-virgin to beg for Agon to forgive him, he wanted to walk the fuck out and forget any of this had ever happened, he wanted Sena to cry and cling to him and promise never to do it again—

He stopped, standing just in front of Sena, towering over him, and he was so filled with a need to hit something that he could almost _see_ the way Sena's lip would split under his knuckles.

"But what did I do?" whispered Sena. Even his voice, his small, girly-faggot voice, was shaking. "I don't understand, what did I—"

Agon's mouth opened to tell Sena that he was a dumb bitch and what came out was _"All you ever want to do anymore is fuck!"_

Sena's eyes widened, and his mouth opened.

They stood there, the two of them with their mouths open, Agon caught somewhere between speechless rage and the sudden possibility that he had gone batshit fucking _crazy_ and Sena staring at him as if he'd never seen him before in his _life_.

"...what?" said Sena weakly.

Agon closed his mouth. Opened it. Closed it again. The fucking trash was staring at him, and Agon couldn't have called him a name if his life depended on it because he was caught in a series of flashbacks, reliving at least twenty-three different conversations with various angry bitches, except someone had reversed the script.

"You—" Agon's teeth were bared, and he was struggling to talk around the part of his brain that was screaming at him to shut the FUCK up. "You! Always—always fucking all over me, you—you can't even fucking take a fucking call—all you want is _cock_—"

No, no, no, this was all wrong, that wasn't what he wanted to say, what the fuck was wrong with him—

If Sena had looked scared before, now he looked _terrified_. "A-Agon, what—I don't—what—you—what—"

There was a strangled noise coming out of Agon's throat, like a rabid dog with indigestion. He opened his mouth to tell Sena that he was done with this bullshit and Sena could go and suck all the blonde cocks he wanted, nearly _choked_ on the _Why don't you ever talk to me anymore?_ that tried to come out instead, and then he shoved Sena to the side, shouted _"Fuck you, you fucking trash!"_ and left.

By the front door, completely ignoring Sena-Mom's _"Agon-kun?"_ and Sena-Dad's _"Now, dear, let him be, homey's obviously upset."_

On his way to the station, Agon kicked _everything_. Dogs, cats, children, and even one old man's walking stick.

He was almost unhinged with anger. What the fuck had come over him? He'd been out of his mind—it was the only explanation for the—the _lies_ that had come out of his mouth, the gibberish he'd spewed in place of everything he'd wanted to say, like how if there'd been a tournament for taking cum shots to the face, Sena would've been MVP.

_What the fuck!_

This was it. Agon was _done_. He'd been out of his fucking mind for the last four months, and enough was enough. It was time to put an end to this shit. Anyway, the fall tournament was about to start again, and he didn't have the time anyway. It was over. He didn't need to think about it anymore.

He was finished with Kobayakawa Sena.

For the next week, Agon went nowhere near Deimon. He shocked his classmates by showing up to class and _staying for the whole thing_ and had to suffer through a bro moment when he failed to skip practice for three days in a row and Unsui told him how proud of Agon he was. Like he _cared_! The underclassmen didn't seem to share Unsui's feelings, as more than a few of them whimpered with fear when they saw Agon taking the field for mock plays. Ikkyu seemed very moved to see Agon so diligent, and for a few days, Agon made an unusual effort and delivered such hard core thrashings on the gridiron that he felt somewhat like his old self and Unsui actually mentioned that maybe Agon could skip the next practice, if just to keep the newbs from quitting in a group, which only made the following day's beatings even _better_.

This was how it fucking should be! No more of this fucking around with big-eyed faggot trash—he had a Kanto tournament to take back, a leering perv to crush under his foot at the Christmas Bowl, and who knew, maybe another World Cup to dominate. He had shit to do! And as soon as he was back in the mood—any day now—he had a new list of Bitches to compile on his phone, because even with the month of near constant fucking he'd just had, a man had needs.

Just as soon as he was back in the mood. When he wasn't busy.

Soon.

It was on the first day of the second week that Ikkyu mentioned Agon's new cell phone habit.

"I'm just oni saying," said Ikkyu, "maybe you could leave it on the bench. It's distracting on the field."

"You got a fucking problem with my phone?"

"No, just, maybe you shouldn't have it in your hand when you're on the line? I can't oni tell if you're looking for the ball or checking your texts."

"He's right," said Unsui. "Your passes have been off as well. Wouldn't it be easier to just leave it on the bench? No one is going to touch it."

"Fuck off."

Why the fuck was it their business anyway? Agon only needed _one_ hand to carry the ball, and he had yet to run into someone on their team that he actually needed an arm to take down. So what if he wanted to carry his phone? He could just imagine leaving it on the bench, only to have some stupid freshman pick it up or drop it or sit on it or something else retarded. He didn't want anyone touching his phone! It was just the way he liked it, and he didn't feel like getting a new one. Anyway, none of his teachers seemed to have a problem with him looking at his phone, and neither did Sendoda, that senile bag of bones.

Later, as they were leaving the locker room, Unsui brought it up again. "You've been looking at that thing all week. Is everything all right?"

"Blow yourself," said Agon, and walked away, glancing at his phone.

But by end of practice the next day, it seemed to Agon that everyone was obsessed with his fucking phone. He could hear the first years whispering about it from halfway across the field, wondering what exactly Agon was looking at so often. Theories ranged from porn to Farmville. Unsui and Ikkyu didn't bring it up again, but they didn't need to, because their looks said it all.

Agon ignored them all. It was _his_ fucking phone and he didn't have to explain himself or his favorite cellular device to _anybody_.

One week and four days later, he ran into one of his ex-bitches on the train.

He was with his team. They were on their way to some meditation seminar shit-thing somewhere, one that Sendoda had insisted both Kongos attend. Unsui had made it happen by stressing the facts that they would get to be excused from two days of classes and that the place involved hot springs. Agon, who had briefly deliberated on the effects of humidity on his phone, had agreed to come just to stop the nagging.

Seeing Reiko on the train made Agon swear he would never do anything Unsui asked of him ever again.

"Oh, Agon-chan," the bitch purred. She was dressed in her public school uniform, conspicuous with her blonde hair and Prada bag. Agon hadn't seen her since before the Christmas Bowl last year, when he'd tossed her for an actual blonde yoga instructor. "How nice to see you!"

The first years' mouths were hanging open. Unsui could have given their mother a run for her money with his I Disapprove Of This face, and Ikkyu looked as if he couldn't decide if he was _oni_ impressed or hopelessly jealous. The other people on the train, who were mostly made up of high school students and a few older people, seemed to not know what to make of it.

"Not now, bitch," said Agon.

Three freshmen and an office lady gasped.

"Still the same Agon-chan," said Reiko, not bothered at all. "And here I was, just politely saying hello."

Agon glared at her. "I'm busy." Then he glanced at his phone.

Reiko saw it. "Are you waiting for a call? What's wrong, did some girl finally put you on the other end of things for once, Agon-chan?"

She said it in a tone that was teasing, if a bit malicious. That was Reiko's way, to be a bitch even when she was trying to hit on someone. Agon hadn't dumped her for that—he'd just gotten bored. Reiko had taken it pretty well (ha!) all things considered, and she'd told him at the time that she'd known his reputation getting into it. He remembered liking her just the slightest bit more for her practical attitude, though not quite enough to take back the dumping. "Are you retarded?"

"I'll bet that's exactly what it is," said Reiko, and she was obviously giving him shit just to pass the time. "I'll bet you're waiting for her to call, except she hasn't, because you've run into the one girl in Japan who isn't going to take your crap, and you look at that phone a hundred times a day hoping there's a text or an e-mail, only there isn't because you messed up, and you're not going to admit it and call first because you're Kongo Agon, and you can't even admit how bad it's killing you that she's not calling—"

Reiko stopped talking almost mid-word. Her eyes widened, and her lips stayed parted. She looked as if someone had hit her between the eyes with a hammer.

Agon didn't know what the expression on _his_ face was, but the ones on Unsui's and Ikkyu's reinvented disbelief.

"Oh my God," said Reiko.

_"Oni?"_ shouted Ikkyu.

"I'm right," said Reiko, a bit dazedly. She was staring at Agon's face. "I'm totally right! Look at you! You're waiting for a girl to call you!"

"Fuck off," snarled Agon.

"That's why you keep checking your phone!" said Ikkyu, as if his untimely death wasn't in arm's length of him. "That's why you won't even put your phone down at practice! You're waiting for a girl to call!"

All the first years were staring. Most of the seniors were, too. Unsui seemed to be trying to recognize the stranger standing next to him.

"Fuck you!" Agon glared. "I am _not_ fucking waiting for _anybody_ to fucking _call_!"

At that exact moment, _Battle Without Honor or Humanity_ began playing from his pants. Agon had his phone out, flipped open, and at his ear in the time it took a normal person to flinch.

"Why the _fuck_ haven't you called?" he shouted into the phone.

_"Huh?"_ gasped Sena.

It was Sena. _It was Sena._ A feeling—some breathless, electric feeling that he, inexplicably, had no identification for—swelled up in his chest until he was ready to either score a thousand touchdowns or tear the steel sheeting off of a building. Agon couldn't decide if he wanted to maim someone or let them off with a dislocated shoulder.

_I'm coming over,_ some treacherous voice suggested in his mind. Instead, Agon demanded, "Where the fuck are you?"

_"At school? I mean, nowhere! I'm nowhere! I-I was just calling because—"_

"Why aren't you in class?"

A pause. Then— _"I just called,"_ said Sena, very quietly, _"because I needed to tell you something—"_

This was it. Sena was coming crawling back. Just like Agon had known he would! Fuck yeah! Fuck, Kongo Agon was a fucking genius! Not even two weeks, and the fucking trash was _dying_ without him. "Yeah?"

("Look at his _face_," someone whispered.)

_"Agon,"_ began Sena, with a deep breath,_"I—"_

_ "Who are you talking to, Sena?"_

_ "Jyuumonji! I—no one, I wasn't—I'm not talking to anyone—"_

_ "Why are you in the storage room?"_

_ "I—"_

Agon. Was. Going. To. Murder. Everybody.

"WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?" Agon erupted into the phone, and everyone, Reiko, Unsui, and Ikkyu included, took two fast steps away from him, with the closest first years literally throwing themselves behind the seniors.

There was some static, some white noise as if the phone was being jostled, and then someone who wasn't Sena said somewhere near the phone, _"Who's 'Math Tutor?'"_

Then the phone went dead.

The plastic casing of Agon's phone split down the middle as he held it.

Reiko's eyes were wide. Unsui and Ikkyu looked alarmed.

"Agon," said Unsui carefully, "Agon, take a deep breath—it's probably not what you think—"

"Hell yeah it is," broke in Reiko. "Agon's girlfriend is cheating on him! Karma's finally catching up to you, Agon-chan!"

"Do you have to sound so oni happy about it," said Ikkyu, keeping a wary eye on Agon.

Agon wasn't listening. Jyuumonji. He knew that name. That blonde fucker—the one he'd bloodied up that day over a month ago, when he'd caught the asshole walking home with Sena. That one. The one he'd been almost eighty-nine percent sure had been doing the fucking pre-ex-virgin behind his back. _That_ Jyuumonji.

Jyuumonji was a dead man.

"I'm going to kill him," decided Agon, his voice deranged and distant in a psychotic sort of way.

Now Unsui and Ikkyu _really_ looked worried. "No, Agon—that's not a good idea—"

Agon had reached a strange mental place, where despite the fact that all he wanted to do was break every bone in _Jyuumonji's_ body, he was still passably calm, as if he'd managed to get so fucking angry that his rage had reached some berserker nirvana where he was pure murderous composure.

The train was coming to a stop.

"I still can't believe it," said Reiko softly. "Kongo Agon, seriously seeing somebody."

"I'm not fucking _seeing_ anybody," Agon sneered at the bitch. Then he turned to Unsui. "I have to go see somebody."

The doors opened. Unsui reached for Agon's sleeve and then Agon was off the train, heading for the stairs, his ticket already in hand.

("Don't kill anyone," Unsui called after him. Agon ignored it.)

Sena's neighborhood was almost two hours away. The uncanny feeling stayed with him as Agon bought a different ticket, then found his platform. By the time he got to the Kobayakawa house, it would be early evening, and Sena would be home. Agon's phone was broken.

_I needed to tell you something._

Fuck. Everything.

Agon's first train came to a stop in front of him. There was a static-filled announcement, and then the doors opened.

A crowd of bald heads and Housen uniforms stared back at Agon.

"Hey," one of them said, a guy with bandages over one eye. "It's that dreadlocks! The one from the conveni!"

"That fucking dreadlocks," said another one.

Fifteen large bald boys turned toward Agon, hostility wafting off of them.

Agon bared his teeth in a horrible imitation of a smile, and stepped onto the train.

Two hours and twenty-two minutes later, Agon was standing in front of Sena's house, his shades folded and stowed in his jacket pocket. The sky was a burnt orange from the setting sun, and he could hear children laughing farther down the street, a bicycle ringing as it passed. The light in Sena's window was on.

Agon rang the doorbell.

Sena-Mom smiled when she saw him. "Oh! Agon-kun! It's been a while, hasn't it? Sena's upstairs. Would you like some tea?"

"Oh, no thank you, Auntie," said Agon, offering her a smile he'd gotten from a magazine. "I've been hydrating all day."

On the way upstairs, he passed Sena-Dad in the living room, who didn't look up but did lower his newspaper just enough to murmur, _Ah, Agon. Wassup, ma nigga._

When he got to Sena's room, Sena was already in the open doorway.

Their eyes met.

Sena had changed his clothes. He wore black jogging bottoms and a red Nike T-shirt. His feet were bare, and his hair wet as if he'd just showered.

He stepped back to let Agon in without saying a thing, and then closed the door and locked it.

Agon tossed his bag down by the desk, flung his jacket over the chair, and grasped a fistful of Sena's hair.

The kiss was sloppy, almost frantic. Sena unbuckled Agon's belt, Agon pulled off Sena's pants and underwear, and then Agon slid his hands down Sena's back and over his ass and down his thighs and picked him up by the knees. Sena's back hit the wall. He clung to Agon by the shoulder and a fistful of dreadlocks, and Agon's arm was under his bent knee. He was whimpering as Agon freed his cock from his own underwear and pants, and he gasped when the head pressed against his flesh. There was no lube—Agon hadn't thought to bring it—and the hand cream was nowhere to be seen.

Agon spat into his hand.

The first thrust made Sena struggle and cry out in short, choking gasps, and this, _this_, this having Sena against him, this thrusting into Sena, this being in Sena and smelling his skin, his hair, his arousal—of being pressed up against Sena as Sena kissed and bit and yanked at his dreads all at once—this made the room go hot and golden under the light, in the ochre-lit curtains Sena had pulled closed, and _this_—this where he was fucking Sena, touching Sena—

—it made him wonder, made him _rage_, at how he had stayed away for even one fucking day.

"Agon," gasped Sena, "Agon—Agon—"

It didn't take long. Agon came to the sound of Sena murmuring his name, with one long, shuddering thrust, and Sena followed at the slightest touch. The cum was sticky on his hand and managed to get on his shirt, but, swear to fucking God, Agon couldn't quite fire up the synapses to be pissed. He just wiped his hand on Sena's shirt.

They collapsed onto the folded futon together, Agon still in Sena. Sena's legs were around his waist.

"I missed you," whispered Sena, into Agon's neck.

Agon closed his eyes.

He realized now that it had been his own fault. The mistake Agon had made was to have trusted Sena even a goddamn inch; the trash was not to be left to his own cognizance. The second Agon wasn't around, the fucking brat had blonde assholes sniffing around him, just looking for an opportunity to park it in the fucking ex-virgin. This was what happened when you started fucking a spineless idiot—you had to be around, you had to keep an eye on them, because they could not be trusted to follow the rules. What a huge waste of time. If he'd known Sena would turn out to be this high maintenance, Agon would never have indulged himself. Except he hadn't, and he had, and now here he was, fucking addicted to this whiny nympho who was failing second year math.

But none of it seemed to really matter, because for the first time in nearly two weeks, Agon wasn't angry at all, but just kind of tired.

He was just about to fall asleep with his spent cock still in Sena and his face against Sena's hair and the both of them smeared with cum when Sena shifted against him.

"Hey, Agon," said Sena softly. "How was your day?"

Agon...opened his eyes. And looked at Sena. "All right."

Sena hmmmed sleepily. "I thought you had some sort of training seminar."

There was a little silence.

And then Agon's hand, the one Sena hadn't come into, came lightly to rest on Sena's head, and the fingers stroked through his hair.

"Some stupid meditation shit," said Agon. "Unsui nagged at me for fucking _days_. Only reason I went was for the hot springs."

Sena made a noise under his breath. "Poor you. Two days at the hot springs, it's too cruel."

Agon didn't smile. He didn't. "Fucking trash. You want to hear this or not?"

"Yes, please. Tell me all about the free vacation your private school tried to send you on."

This fucking...! "Since when are you this fucking bitchy?"

Sena pressed his mouth to Agon's throat, and for a moment, Agon could say nothing.

"Please tell me, Agon," whispered Sena. "I want to hear."

Agon's fingers stilled in Sena's hair. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—mean, and all of it somehow got lost in the voice in his head that was saying _Yes, yes, yes!_

"But get off me first," said the fucking ex-virgin. "Your fat ass is breaking my leg."


End file.
